


The Reward

by Celandine



Series: Steward's Family [9]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-11
Updated: 2003-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celandine/pseuds/Celandine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A post-Ring War story of Éowyn and Faramir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reader

It is very late, so late that it is nearly morning. I push back the chair from my desk and let the candle gutter out. I dislike having to work all night, but we agreed that I would check over all the household accounts before we send our report to King Elessar – and the messenger is supposed to leave Ithilien tomorrow. I should be tired, but I just read one of those little stories that you like to leave for me, tucked at the bottom of a stack of accounts as a reward for my efforts, and though a distant corner of my mind tells me I really ought just to go sleep, I’m too aroused to relax.

I head for the garderobe first, though. I am thankful that I went riding today and never bothered to change – the garments of Rohan are by far simpler to remove. I finish taking off my clothes and toss them into the basket.

Even though you always wake so early, it is still too early even for you. I look at you, half-turned onto your side, one arm flung out. It was warm tonight, and you went to bed naked. The sheet tangles around your legs and feet. I watch you breathe; you must be dreaming, for your face keeps changing expression and the fingers of your right hand are twitching as if you are reaching for something.

Luck is with me tonight. You are dreaming of something that is exciting you. I can see you pulsing, hardening. I smile and decide to see how long it will take before you wake, as I make your dream a reality.

I stretch out on the bed beside you, propping my head on one arm, and lean over to take you into my mouth. Gentle, now, I would not wake you too quickly. I think that you are incorporating this into your dream; you shift but your eyes do not open, and your breathing stays deep. Good. Your skin is salty with sweat as I carefully press my lips around your swelling head. I will not suck hard – not yet – just run my tongue along the slit and down the beating veins. My free hand I use to stroke the musky pouch below. You prefer me to be gentle there, which always makes me wonder how men can endure to ride horseback – must it not be painful? I ignore the distracting thought and return to this moment.

From reading the tale you left me earlier, I am already wet and open. I press my thighs rhythmically together as I caress you – I can feel the throb of blood pulsing there, but I cannot touch myself just now, I am too busy with you. Oh yes, you like this, even in your sleep. Or are you beginning to wake, now, from the insistent pounding of desires roused? I love the way you get so hard for me, flesh reddening as if from a fire within. I am on fire to have you, too.

I release you from my mouth and swing my leg across your body, kneeling, straddling you. I run my hands over your hips, then edge upward until I can push myself down onto you, holding your shaft to guide you inside of me. Oh, by all the powers that be, that is what I needed. I shudder, tightening around you spasmodically.

That seems to have awoken you. You turn your head, eyes still closed, and reach for my thigh, stroking down it. A smile quirks your mouth, and you slide your grasp around my waist. I lean forward and brace my hands on either side of your shoulders, sliding up and down. You let out a deep sigh, almost a moan, as I move. Now your eyes open. You love to watch me this way. I think it must be the movement of my breasts that you find so captivating, because suddenly you lift your head to suckle hard on my left nipple. The sensation is so captivating that I pause from my motions. You tickle the firm nub with your tongue, and every motion brings a corresponding jolt deep in my groin. I begin to move again, slowly, in time with you, angling my pelvis so that one proud bit of flesh rubs the other.

But you know that I really prefer to be on bottom, and now that you have awakened, you hold me, impaled on you, and roll us both over. I think I may have awoken a dragon, here, because the fire I felt before was as the merest candle compared with this. You breathe into my ear, murmuring my name. I kiss and then bite your neck, so conveniently near my mouth, as I come again and again with each thrust you give. It has always pleased you that I can find such prolonged pleasure with you, and my clenching spasms make you even hotter than you were already. We kiss, lingeringly but hard, tongues wrapped around each other. It is as if what my tongue does to your mouth is repeated elsewhere, only the penetrator and the penetrated are reversed.

I am crying out, tilting my groin so that I press into the base of your shaft, my knees up, my head pushing backward into the bed, my breasts thrust upward, aching for your mouth again. And you oblige, as if you were dying of thirst and I were the only source of water, kneading one breast with your hand as you kiss and suck on the other.

Oh, now you are close to climax too. You like to wait as long as you can, and I usually wish you would come sooner. Not to lessen the time of your pleasure, but because then I feel proud for having made you so aroused that you were not quite able to keep control. You do pride yourself on that; it is only right that your wife should be the one who can break it, sometimes. You taught me to lessen my own pride, and so I return the favor for you. You groan in your throat, thrusting deep.

"Are you ready? Now?"

"Now, Faramir," I say, and pull you to me, my legs wrapped around you, bringing you as far into me as possible. You hesitate one final instant, then release, filling me, and I reach my final climax knowing that you have reached your own. I kiss you tiredly and you laugh a little, withdrawing.

"You must have found that story, Éowyn," you say. I can only nod, so relaxed now that I cannot even move. "I had better go see Duilin on his way, now that you have finished the accounts. Sleep well, dear." You kiss me on the cheek and go off to begin your day, as I slip into the darkness of a well-earned rest.


	2. The Rider

She has always liked to ride, my wife. How could she not? She was bred and born among the horsemen of Rohan. Legend says that in the dim past each proud father was careful to ensure that the first thing his new child tasted was mare’s milk, to seal the bond between folk and herd. I asked Éowyn once if that legend were true, but she only laughed at me.

Once we were married, she translated her love of riding to the bedchamber. I was ready to hold back, to let her set the pace, but she seized the bit and we raced away together. The best kind of race, in which it matters not who takes the lead at a given moment, and all involved are winners.

Sometimes, though, the demands of governing this land, still half-wild and with foul things lurking to snare the unwary, keep us from each other’s company more than we would prefer. As last night. It is easy to put off an unwanted task, but only for so long. The last note from King Elessar bore a tone of long-suffering, assuming that once again we would be delaying our reports to him. Éowyn realized that as surely as I did, and was stung by it. She vowed to finish reviewing the accounts before seeking her bed, no matter if it took till dawn.

My wife is clever with figures, but not quick with them, and I knew it likely that it would indeed take her all night. She would not have me help, but I knew how to ease her burden. In the first months of our marriage I showed her a book of tales, translations from the Elvish, that Elessar had given to me as a marriage gift. Not the official gift from king to high subject – if memory serves that was the piece of tapestry work depicting the Field of Cormallen that now hangs in our great hall – but rather a gift from man to man. I was at first surprised at the contents of it, but Éowyn was delighted. So I began to try writing little stories of my own, lest with time and repetition the others grow dull. I keep them hidden away and share them with her at moments that seem right, a way to lighten her heart. Last night I slipped into the office while she was looking to see the children were abed and asleep, and tucked one below a pile of papers covered with intimidating amounts of numbers.

She seemed distracted when she kissed me and turned to her task, and I hoped that she would enjoy her tale.

Near dawn I woke, or rather was awakened as she came into the chamber. I did not move, though, as sleep would be best for her, though thinking of what – I hoped – she had just read stirred my own desires. My restraint was rewarded, for she came to me in the same manner. On a warm night, I had wanted no clothing, and she took advantage of that to stimulate me further, kissing, licking, sucking, as I hardened under her loving caresses. It is a game we play, really – to pretend to sleep, enjoying passivity. I am usually less direct than she was this time, though.

When she moved to guide me inside her, I could no longer feign sleep. I had to reach down, touch thighs muscled from riding, trail up to a waist only slightly thickened from childbearing, feel the flesh that embraced my own. As she leaned forward I opened my eyes to see her looking at me as she slid up and down. Her breasts moved, swaying with the rhythm of her strokes, and I reached up to cup one, then lifted my head to tease her nipple with my tongue, so taut and yet so tender it was, like a ripe olive. The full moon dipping to the western horizon shone in through our window and made her skin look like marble, veined with the palest blue across her throat and breast.

I took her in my arms and rolled us over together, still joined. Though I love to see her riding me, she finds her greatest pleasure when I ride her. The wetness between her legs could not put out the fire I felt; rather it was like oil on a blaze. She cried out and bit into my neck as I thrust, and I could feel her groin clasp me in her spasms. I kissed her, and she pushed her tongue into my mouth as if to make me feel penetrated, even as I entered her. I suckled on her tongue for a moment, then traced down along neck and collarbone to her breast, circling it with the point of my own tongue in spirals decreasing until I reached the darker center. Supporting my weight on my left hand, I used my right to mimic my mouth’s movement on her other breast as I continued to push into her.

By now I found it hard to hold back. I wanted this to last longer, but she was so open to me, so ready, that I could not.

"Are you ready now, Éowyn?" I asked as I thrust. She tightened around me at the deepest point of each movement, then relaxed to let me withdraw again.

"Yes, now, Faramir," she said, her head back, eyes closed, face and throat and breast flushed. She lifted her legs and wrapped them firmly around my buttocks, pressing me yet more closely within.

I pushed once more, and could wait no longer. My seed spilled from me, into her, as I felt her quiver one last time in final release.

Suddenly all her energy and desire seemed spent, and she could scarcely lift her head to give me a languid kiss. I chuckled at the change from the avid active rider to tired child. She raised one eyelid just enough to glare at me as I slowly withdrew. I chuckled again and kissed her cheek.

"I suppose you found the bedtime story I left you, love," I said to her. She nodded sleepily and snuggled further under the sheet.

I glanced at the window, where a faint stain of daylight began to replace the cool light of the moon that had shone upon us at our pleasure. "It’s close enough to day now that I will send someone to roust out Duilin and send him on his way. I assume the accounts are stacked on your desk and ready to go?" She nodded again, her breath already coming in the long slow inhalations of sleep. I kissed her check and slid from the bed, reaching for my clothes. "All right. Sleep well, dear."

She rolled over and took hold of the pillow, tucking it between her breasts. I wished it were I there, held tightly in those pale arms, but I had other things to do today. Éowyn would be better for sleep undisturbed, and I would be better for getting matters accomplished that had been waiting around.

As I opened the door to leave our chamber, I looked back at my wife. She sleeps as lightly as a child sometimes, but this day I felt that undisturbed rest would be her greatest reward for the effort she had made. King Elessar would be delighted to receive the Ithilien accounts on time for once, and all due to her hard work.


End file.
